Poem #3 Untitled

So many colored faces in a crowd

set in 1960s



There was beats and poets

that rang and sang

of being black.


The stars could burn your hair off.

It was beautiful, sitting there in the crowd and

listening to the song.


Love indiscriminately

never judge because

what is mine, is yours.



It was also about


from the ashes.



Old tunes that’ll turn you to stone

staccato shaking in them chords n’ bones

only black frames left behind.


Old tunes


in them


This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world


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